Notte
by Alsace
Summary: Elena never appears in the final confrontation against Klaus. This changes everything. Eventual slash, slight het for now.
1. appear

_Bonnie was all alone. The only one left standing. And she was afraid. _

_But she knew what she had to do._

_She let her knees collapse again, dropping to the ground beside Stefan._

_And this is how it ends, she thought. You kneel beside your knight and then you face the enemy._

—VD4

* * *

**Prologue**

_._

_No time to trance, no time for anything. Nothing except one desperate appeal. . ._

"_Elena!"_ Bonnie screamed. _"Elena! Elena!"_

Klaus faltered in mid-step and recoiled, handsome face twisting in surprise. For an instant, it seemed as if time itself had stopped in the clearing.

Seizing the respite, Bonnie began to gather her powers, focusing everything she had into a single thought and hurling it out into the night.

_Elena! We_ need _you!_

Then she sagged forward, drained.

By now Klaus had drawn back even further. He stood a few feet from Bonnie and Stefan, blond head tilted slightly to the side. Listening.

Bonnie listened too. She huddled on the dark ground, all her senses honed and straining. Desperate to pick up some kind of response.

She knelt, and waited, and felt. . .

Nothing.

Dead silence, but for the crackling sound of flames.

_No. . ._ Bonnie looked around wildly, heart sinking. _Oh, God. . ._ A renewed wave of terror washed over her.

Klaus was already grinning. As their eyes met, his smile widened. He started forward again, one arm reaching out.

His hand was on her neck before she could scream, hauling her up into the air. Bonnie could feel herself choking as he held her inches from the ground. She struggled: kicking, writhing, twisting—anything to break free. Soon her lungs were burning, and black spots filled her vision until she couldn't see.

"Stupid girl," she heard Klaus mock. "You should have run."

The pain was getting worse. This is it, Bonnie thought dimly, I'm going to—

And then the darkness came crashing down, and she knew no more.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Huge thanks to **windiain **for the awesome beta on this story.

_All recognizable characters belong to L.J. Smith, but this story and its original elements__ are mine. Please do not copy, steal, archive, or distribute._


	2. awaken

_There was a blue flash of superheated gases and a smell of burning, and then Damon was down, lying motionless on his face…_

—VD4

* * *

**Chapter One**

_._

Awareness came abruptly—a sudden shift out of the blackness of oblivion, and into conscious thought.

Damon could feel the hard dirt beneath him and warm heat on his face: distant sensations to the pain in his nerves. He tried to lift his head, only to have his vision blur, his senses stifled by the smell of burnt flesh. He allowed his body a few seconds to steady itself and adjust to the pain. Then he placed both hands on the ground and pushed up, climbing to his feet.

Stiff muscles ached in protest, but that wasn't his most pressing concern. There was smoke rising off the charred remains of his clothes. Closer examination revealed patches of raw, blistered skin, still healing from. . . whatever had happened. At the moment he couldn't recall.

How annoying, Damon thought.

Ignoring the pain, he concentrated on remembering. He caught several glimpses of a white, brilliant light, but otherwise—nothing. More minutes passed until frustration set in.

It was night; that much he knew. He could smell blood, and the air was heavy—charged with power. Like the aftermath of an electrical storm, Damon gradually realized. And hadn't he been hit with something hot. . .?

He stopped. Yes, he had. _Lightning._

Frustration vanished as memory flooded in—with rising fury not far behind. He knew everything now, remembered everything. The fight. Klaus. Stefan.

_Stefan._

_You little fool_, Damon thought viciously, snapping his head up to scan the area. The fire from earlier—from the _lightning,_ damn it—had spread, the blaze reaching beyond the treetops now. A few yards away the redhead was lying in a heap, unconscious.

But no sign of his brother. No sign of Klaus either.

Answers, he needed answers. Forcing his legs forward, Damon stumbled over to Bonnie and shook her hard.

"Bonnie. Wake up."

No response. A quick scan of her mind told him she was out cold. Dark bruises marred her throat, but she seemed otherwise unhurt. The blood wasn't hers.

By now the wind had shifted, blowing the thick smoke their way. She'd have to be moved, and taken to a hospital.

_'Promise me.'_

Tamping down his impatience, Damon gathered the smaller body into his arms and headed off to the side of the clearing, away from the flames. Strength returned as his body continued to repair itself, the pain receding to a dull ache.

He hadn't gotten far in the woods when someone screamed.

Damon looked over at where Elena's dark-haired friend and the girl Klaus had used as bait were huddled at the base of an oak. The girl—Caroline, if he remembered her name correctly—was clutching a large stick and staring at him. Her arms were shaking.

He ignored her. "What happened?" he asked Meredith, setting Bonnie down.

Meredith's eyes slit open. Her forehead was covered in a pale line of sweat, and Damon noted the slight hitches in her breath. The scent of her blood was strong in the air between them. A quick glance located the gashes in her thigh. The werewolf, no doubt.

She was bleeding out, and rather quickly too. Someone had tried to fashion a crude tourniquet but blood still seeped up from her wounds. She needed medical treatment, and soon.

But first—answers.

"I. . . I don't know," Meredith managed to whisper. "Klaus and Tyler—they left."

Damon was not surprised. He had figured as much. What he wanted to know, however, was why he was still alive, if a bit singed. And where his brother was.

Meredith hesitated at the question, then said quietly, "I don't know that either. He. . . Klaus was carrying him—Stefan. His eyes were closed." She paused, before admitting, "I thought Tyler would kill us when he woke up, but Klaus ordered him not to."

Damon narrowed his eyes. Well, wasn't that interesting?

So. Klaus had refrained from killing them at the last minute and for no apparent reason. If he had to guess, he would say his little brother had done something stupid again.

That accounted for everyone then, except one. "Where's Matt?" he asked.

Meredith winced. She lifted a finger and pointed shakily behind him. Damon turned, noticing for the first time the body that lay slumped against a tree.

Matt. Several quick strides, and he was kneeling beside him. He could sense a weak heartbeat, but the boy's breathing was shallow and irregular. Blood flowed out the back of his skull, which had nearly caved in from the impact. Bits of wood mixed with the bone fragments in his blond hair.

He didn't have much time left. There was only one thing that could save him now.

_'You have Power, Damon. I want you to use it to help them.'_

Not for the first time, Damon cursed his younger brother and his own idiot promises. But it seemed he had no choice. Something had to be done.

"Stay here," he told the girls, straightening as he turned back to them. "There's a matter that needs to be taken care of."

"Wait—what—" It was the auburn twit. Apparently the thought of abandonment was enough to spur her into action. "You can't just leave us here." She sounded outraged.

Damon refrained from pointing out that she was the reason why they were here at all, and that he most certainly could leave her, or worse. But she was right about the other two. Neither would last long without a hospital.

His dilemma was solved as he became aware of the sound of sirens in the distance. Ah. Someone from the town must have spotted the blaze. How convenient.

Meredith heard the sirens too. She started to sit up, using the tree trunk for support. "What are you going to do?" she asked him. Her dark eyes were steady as she searched his face.

Damon met her gaze and held it. "I'm leaving with Matt," he told her slowly. "He needs something else if he's going to live."

In the darkness he watched her expression change, and knew she understood. She stared at him, looking like she wanted to protest. But finally, after a long moment, she pressed her lips together and gave him a short, tight nod. Then she turned away. As she focused on Bonnie and Caroline her thin shoulders squared, the resolve slamming down like a shield.

"It'll be okay," she told Caroline firmly. "It's over now."

Which was a lie if he ever heard one, but Damon didn't bother to correct her. There were more important things to attend to, like the broken body in front of him. Bending down, he scooped Matt into his arms, careful not to jostle him too much. The boy's head lolled sickly to one side.

He was not sure if Matt would want this. Was almost quite certain he wouldn't, in fact. But since he was currently unconscious, he had little choice in the matter.

And Damon had a promise to keep. . . and later, people to kill.


	3. afloat

__

"But you know, Meredith, it's a funny thing about darkness. There's always more of it waiting in the wings."

—Tyler Smallwood, VD4

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_._

It was raining slightly. Just a light drizzle, the drops soft and cool against her skin, but Bonnie shivered and rubbed her arms for warmth. She had no idea where she was. Around her the landscape was flat and barren, the ground stretching endlessly into the distance. The whole place made her uneasy. It was just so. . . bleak.

"You can't stay here." The voice came out of nowhere.

Startled, Bonnie shrieked and swung around, one hand leaping to her chest when she realized who it was.

"Elena! Oh God, don't _do_ that."

Elena just looked at her. She was dressed in a thin white gown again, and her pale hair was unbound, flowing loosely in the wind. A soft glow radiated somewhere from within her, making her seem almost ethereal. Tiny raindrops glistened on her skin.

"You need to go back, before it's too late," spirit-Elena said. She sounded strangely insistent, and Bonnie's relief quickly turned to uncertainty.

"Go back," she echoed, as a jumble of questions surfaced. Where was she? How did she get here? Had something happened? What was going _on_? Thoughts began to flicker around the edges of her mind, teasing her, but every time she tried to catch them they flitted away. Yet she sensed—_knew_—that there was something. . . something important she needed to remember. . .

Then it hit her. "Oh, my God," Bonnie breathed, "I'm dead." Her mind flashed back to her last few moments in the clearing: Klaus striding towards her, his coat billowing out behind him, a hand on her neck, and the choking darkness.

"You're not dead," Elena told her, urgently. "Not yet anyway. You still have a chance to wake up."

Oh. Suddenly Bonnie understood. This was all just another dream. But then. . . if Klaus hadn't killed her, what— "What happened to Stefan? And Damon? Are Matt and Meredith—"

"They're alive," Elena interrupted. "But Bonnie, _listen_ to me. This isn't like before. You're not dreaming. You're in the spirit world, and you need to leave while you still can."

"Leave," Bonnie repeated dumbly. _Where_ was she again?

Elena just nodded, her voice becoming more serious: "And once you wake up, I need you to do something important for me, okay? I need you to get to Damon, and give him this message. _Tell him, Bonnie: You need to find an Old One. They're the only ones who know._ Alright? Can you remember that?" She looked straight at her, blue eyes boring into her, until Bonnie nodded shakily.

"Okay, I promise," she said, confused but not wanting to disappoint. Everything was happening so fast, and she was almost scared. Elena had never been this—this _intense_ before. . .

Suddenly something caught her attention. She stopped, unable to believe what she was seeing.

A few yards away a door had appeared out of nowhere. Bonnie was sure it hadn't been there before—it couldn't have, she would've noticed something so weird. The door was standing there in the rain, unattached to any building. A single wooden frame surrounded by miles of cold, grey space.

"There's your exit," said Elena. She was practically vibrating in agitation now. "Hurry, you've been here too long as it is."

"But. . ." She still had more questions. Like, why hadn't Klaus killed Stefan, and how had Matt—

Elena's look turned desperate, and before Bonnie could get another word out, she shoved her—_hard_—in the direction of the door. "Go!" she shouted.

Stumbling a little, Bonnie started running, the fear finally catching on. She had only gotten a few feet when an invisible force seized hold of her, making her legs feel like lead. Behind her Elena was yelling, screaming that the door would lock soon. Oh God, oh God, I can do this, Bonnie thought, struggling forward. Slowly, after what seemed like forever, she made the last few steps. Grabbing the knob, she wrenched the heavy wood open, and stepped into the light. . .

* * *

Her eyes hurt. Bonnie shut them instinctively against the brightness streaming in through the windows. She was disoriented, and weak, and lying on what had to be a bed. There were tubes all over the place—she'd caught a glimpse of them—and some kind of monitor had been set up next to her.

A hospital, she realized blearily. I'm in a hospital.

To her right she could hear the door opening suddenly, and someone slipping into the room. Probably a nurse or a doctor. Bonnie opened her eyes a crack, then widened them when she saw that it was Matt.

"Matt!" she rasped, her voice so hoarse it was barely more than a whisper. "You're okay!" She reached out a hand towards him. Matt stepped forward and took it, squeezing gently, but there was a frown on his face.

"You've been in a coma for three days," he informed her grimly. "Meredith's two doors down, recovering from her surgery. Damon just got back and he's with her, guarding her in case. . ." his voice trailed off, and he shrugged a little.

"So everyone made it out alive?" Bonnie asked. The dizziness was fading by the second, and she could even sit up.

To her surprise Matt gave a bitter laugh, dropping her hand. "Yeah, in a manner of speaking," he said. "At least, there weren't any bodies for the police to find." He shot her a quick, humorless grin.

"That's. . . good, I guess," said Bonnie, uncertain. For some reason her senses were prickling. She couldn't get over the feeling that something was wrong. She stared at Matt, trying to pinpoint exactly what.

Gradually, it dawned on her that he looked—different. Not just tired, or stressed, like something heavy was weighing on his mind. No, there was something really _physically off_ about him.

It was his eyes, for one thing. They were so blue they seemed unreal. Matt's eyes were supposed to be warm and comforting, not this intense shade of cerulean. And his skin, normally a healthy tan, was pale, almost too pale, like all the color had been drained away—

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.

"Matt," she whispered. "You didn't."

The way he looked away, dropping his gaze to the floor, told her everything she needed to know.

"No," Bonnie said, voice rising, as the full weight of the realization sank in. _"No!"_ She was going into hysterics, she could feel it.

"It was the only way," Matt told her, refusing to meet her eyes. "He did what he had to do."

_Damon._ Bonnie's nails bit into her palm. She couldn't believe this was happening. That Damon would do this to Matt. She wanted to cry, or hit something. It was so unfair. So _wrong_.

"Matt," she uttered, helpless. She didn't know what to say. What _could_ she say? _'Sorry you're a blood-sucking vampire, but hey, at least you look great?'_

"Drop it Bonnie," he snapped, and she shut her mouth. He can probably read my mind now, she thought numbly.

"I'm alive," Matt continued, starting to pace up and down the room. "And that's all that matters. At the moment we've got bigger things to worry about." He sounded like he was talking to himself.

Bonnie was saved from replying as the door opened abruptly and a doctor strolled in, followed by a middle-aged nurse.

"Well! Seems our patient's finally awake," the man said, giving her a kind smile. "It's good to see you up, Ms. McCullough. You gave us quite a scare."

Matt caught her eye and silently mouthed 'we'll talk later.' He turned to slip out of the room, as the doctor and nurse crowded closer. Bonnie was almost glad to see him go. It hurt too much to look at him.

* * *

The nurse kept giving her sympathetic glances the whole time the doctor was talking. From what Bonnie could tell, the official story was that Tyler had tried to attack Meredith, Caroline, and her while they were at the old Francher place, before running off when a wild animal showed up. Then lightening hit a tree, scaring the wolf and causing the fire. It was the dumbest story Bonnie had ever heard—Caroline had probably come up with it herself. But it seemed to do the trick, and she was supposed to give her statement to the police later.

The only good news, she learned, was that she had no other injuries besides the bruises around her throat, which were healing nicely. "You're a very lucky young lady," Dr. Wilson had remarked on his way out. Bonnie had resisted the urge to laugh.

Now Matt was leading her to Meredith's room, her arm attached to a movable IV pole. Luckily there was no one in the hallway, or they would've been stopped. The doctor had been adamant about her needing to rest and regain her strength.

They didn't have much time anyway; her parents and Mary were on their way to the hospital. They'd been taking shifts with Matt for the last three days. Bonnie had no idea how she was going to explain any of this to them. They'll probably lock me up until I'm thirty, she told herself. It was an oddly comforting thought.

But there was no time to worry about that because they had reached the room. Matt was pushing the door open, motioning her inside. She braced herself, not sure what to expect.

"Hey, guys."

Bonnie lifted her eyes off the floor as Matt stepped aside, giving her a full view of Meredith. For a moment she simply stood there, too stunned to speak.

The other girl was sitting on the bed, her right leg wrapped in thick white bandages. She looked terrible: dark shadows under both eyes and lines of exhaustion written all over her face. The way she held her head up in determination, however, was familiar, as was the tight line of her mouth that quirked into a wry grin when she saw her.

"Hey, look who's awake," Meredith greeted lightly.

Bonnie tried to return the smile, but it was a weak attempt. Inwardly she was still reeling. Her eyes wouldn't stop focusing on the leg on the bed.

"How bad is it?" she managed.

There was a long pause. Meredith sighed, looking resigned. "The doctors think I'll need at least two more surgeries," she told Bonnie, leaning forward to adjust the bandages. She sounded indifferent, but Bonnie could see the stiff set of her shoulders, could hear the barest note of tension in her voice.

"Oh Meredith," she breathed, her heart going out to her friend. She stumbled forward, dragging her IV.

"And even then it's all up in the air," Meredith continued, like she hadn't heard her. "They're giving me a forty percent chance to walk again."

"We could improve those odds," a new voice broke in, startling Bonnie. She turned to the corner of the room, where Damon was lounging in a chair. She hadn't even noticed him until now.

Apparently Meredith had forgotten about him too. She lifted her head, surprised. Damon had an eyebrow raised, and as they locked gazes, something flickered between them. . .

Then Bonnie saw her shake her head minutely, saw Damon shrug lightly in response, and the moment passed.

"So, um, what do we do now?" she asked, moving to stand at the foot of the bed, away from Damon. She didn't want to be near him, not after what he'd done to Matt. And it was weird not having Stefan here to take charge. Even when things had been bad—not as bad as this, but still bad—he'd known what to do.

"Well, we were hoping Klaus was still in the area," Matt started, looking just as uncomfortable as she was. He had shut the door and was leaning against it, arms crossed. "But Damon can't find him anywhere, and we haven't heard anything from him. So we were thinking that maybe. . ." he glanced at Meredith and stopped, shrugging.

"They want to leave," Meredith explained to her. "For Europe, like Stefan was planning to do before you came up with the idea to see my grandfather."

_Grandfather._ There was a slight twinge at that. Bonnie shook her head, trying to listen.

"Personally, I think it's a bad idea," Meredith continued. "It'll just leave this whole town open to attack, which Klaus is sure to do sooner or later. Matt thinks he may have moved on, but I know he's just waiting, wanting us off-guard again."

"Well, maybe we could find Tyler, get him to tell us—" Bonnie began, but Damon cut her off.

"He's dead."

At first Bonnie wasn't sure she'd heard right. "He's _dead_?" she repeated, incredulous. "How? I didn't hit him _that_ hard when—_oh_." Realization hit, and she knew the shock was visible on her face. Damon stared back at her emotionlessly, not moving.

The whole group fell silent for a minute. Matt looked slightly sick, as if he was remembering something unpleasant. Meredith, on the other hand, had a grim smile on her face, no doubt thankful that the person—the monster—who had done this to her was dead. And who had, in all likelihood, been tortured before he died.

Bonnie didn't know what to think. While her mind was telling her that Tyler deserved whatever he got, she couldn't help but feel uneasy at the expression on Damon's face. It was the look of a killer, someone who had murdered and not regretted it in the slightest. All the gruesome details he wasn't saying were reflected in his eyes, those black, bottomless eyes.

_Stop being stupid_, she told herself fiercely. You've known what he was all along. He killed Mr. Tanner. He tried to suck your blood. He turned Matt into a _vampire_, for God's sake.

But somehow, after everything that had happened, she'd forgotten. In that field, with Stefan lying on the ground between them, he hadn't been Damon the centuries-old hunter. He'd been a person, a boy, almost vulnerable, and scared to lose the one person he cared about. . .

There was nothing vulnerable about him now. Now Bonnie could sense nothing but cold fury, held behind a rigid self-control. He looked supremely dangerous, that edge of violence that always seemed to surround him simmering just below the surface.

Tyler still deserved it, Bonnie thought stubbornly, and forced her attention back to the group.

Matt was speaking again. "—couldn't tell us much anyway. So if Klaus doesn't make a move in the next few days, we're going to have to leave. Damon has some contacts in Europe who might know something. And if we can find a victim. . ."

"Find a victim," Bonnie echoed. That didn't sound right to her for some reason.

"But just now I was thinking that, before we leave, we should visit Meredith's grandfather again. In case he can give us more clues."

_Meredith's grandfather._ There was that twinge. Bonnie ignored it, nodding blankly, trying to concentrate.

"We already tried that once," she heard Meredith argue.

"Then we should try it again," Matt countered. "It's still the best chance we've got. And he told us about the white ash wood before."

The twinge was getting worse, like an itch in the back of her mind that she couldn't scratch. Bonnie frowned. Something was wrong.

"Um, guys," she said, but no one was listening.

"Then he's told you everything he knows! You'll only upset him worse."

"Guys," she said again. The itch was growing, becoming more persistent.

"We have to try. We have to try everything, anything. Meredith, c'mon, Stefan's _life_ may be at stake here."

"Don't you think I know that? But interrogating an old man isn't going to help. What's Damon going to do, torture _him_ too—?"

"Guys!" Bonnie was waving her hands to get their attention.

And then Meredith stopped, and stared at her.

_Finally,_ Bonnie thought, opening her mouth to speak. Until she realized that Meredith wasn't looking at her; she was looking _past_ her. Damon and Matt had turned to face her too, their attention captured by something she couldn't see.

Premonition increasing—and that's what it was, she was sure of it—Bonnie pivoted around. A small TV had been placed on the table behind her. It'd been on the whole time, showing one of those daytime soap operas, but the volume was off so she'd ignored it.

Now the show had been interrupted by some kind of breaking news story. Time seemed to slow down as Bonnie stared at the screen. There was a reporter standing in front of a large grey building, gesturing solemnly behind him, as a news line flashed beneath him at the bottom of the screen.

_—at Stonewall Crest Hospital, West Virginia. Worst massacre in U.S. history. 82 dead, police say._

Stonewall Crest Hospital. Wasn't that. . .

No. Oh, God. _No._

Distantly Bonnie was aware the room had erupted into chaos. Matt was on his feet and yelling at Damon, gesturing wildly, while Damon was glaring back, responding in a furious hiss. Two nurses, drawn by the noise, had rushed into the room, their movements frantic and pleading.

But through it all Bonnie had eyes only for Meredith, who sat on the bed, unmoving, a horrible blank expression on her face.


	4. alive

_"It's because of me that Klaus is here."_

_—_Stefan, VD4

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_._

The smell of blood was overwhelming, so thick that Stefan could taste it in the air. The familiar scent worked slowly to draw him out of the darkness—a steady, irresistible pull. He could feel his teeth lengthening, as his stomach clenched and his eyes opened.

The harsh light came as a shock. He sat up, blinking hard against it, his mind spinning. _What had—where—_he could barely think. Gritting his teeth he stared at the floor, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

Once his head had cleared he was able to look around. Long white hallway on either side of him, empty except for the wheelchairs parked against the walls.

No bodies. No splashes of red. But the smell of death was everywhere, an oppressive cloying reek that sickened him. Stefan cursed softly, leaning his head against the wall as he closed his eyes.

_Klaus._

He had lost. He had lost. And now more people were dead. Most likely everyone in the building, since he doubted Klaus would leave anyone alive.

Grimacing, Stefan nearly welcomed the sharp pang of guilt that hit him. Old bitter pain, the only thing that could penetrate the numbness—the dull resignation of defeat. He suddenly felt so tired, so incredibly weary.

Elena, he thought. I failed you.

Her face, effused with sadness, flashed before him. He could see the grief in her eyes, tears shimmering in their clear blue depths. It made his heart ache. Everything she'd done for him—loving him, forgiving him, _healing_ him—and he had only let her down.

And not just her, he had failed everyone. The town, his friends, his brother. They could all be dead, despite Klaus's promise to leave them alone. Stefan had no way of knowing if the deal he'd made had been worth it.

_The deal._ Now Stefan groaned, images of that night swirling around in his mind, triggered by the memory. Klaus gripping his face, pulling him closer, as a wrist pressed hard against his mouth. . . Stefan shivered, remembering the electric tang of the Original's blood—the feeling of all that raw Power flowing through him. Pure blood from an ancient, primal source, the only thing that could heal wounds like the ones he'd suffered. Even when he hadn't wanted it to, when he'd wanted to die. . .

* * *

Pain. Too much, and all at once. Every nerve on fire, his chest an inferno that sent white hot spikes shooting through him. He could feel his back arching, his face twisting as sweat streamed down the sides.

He lay there, helpless, as Klaus grabbed Bonnie and choked her. A few minutes of frantic struggle and then she was out cold, small body dangling loosely in his grip. Klaus looked at her with an expression of distaste before letting her drop, as if she were a particularly disgusting bug he'd just squashed. Then he turned, mouth curling into a grin when he saw Stefan.

Another bright flare of pain, and Stefan had to fight to hold back a shudder. He could feel each wound, each splinter poking into the tissue of his shredded flesh. It was _agony._ But he wouldn't let Klaus see him cry out. He glared at the other vampire as he approached, determined to remain defiant to the end.

Klaus just laughed. The blond man was smiling victoriously as he knelt beside Stefan, blue eyes alight with malice—nearly glowing in the dark. He could feel them raking up and down his body, lingering on the bloody hole in the center.

_"Sal-va-tore."_ Klaus rolled the name around on his tongue, tasting it. "Any other trick you want to try, before I eat you?"

Stefan didn't bother to respond. He had no strength or Power left, nothing that would stop the Old One. All he could do was lay there and wait for the inevitable.

After five hundred years, his death had finally come.

In an odd way, it was a relief—anything to end this horrific, crippling pain. But it was more than that, Stefan realized. The last few weeks—no, the last _year_ itself—had left him mentally and physically exhausted. He felt so tired now, of fighting, and trying to go on despite the loneliness and despair. Tired of living without the only person that made it worthwhile.

Elena. For the briefest moment, when Bonnie had screamed her name, a small part of him had hoped. . .

But no, she was dead. And soon he would be too. Then the others would follow, because he had failed to protect them.

"Seems a waste," Klaus commented suddenly, startling him. Stefan looked up. Klaus was frowning, one hand hovering over his bloody middle.

"Just do it," he gritted out. He could barely speak; it hurt too much. He found himself just wanting it to end, and quickly.

But Klaus was shaking his head. "And spoil my fun?" he asked. "So soon, after all these years?" Abruptly the hand withdrew, and now his eyes were appraising. "No, I think I have a better idea."

This time, as another white streak of agony tore through him, Stefan smiled faintly, struck with a grim sense of triumph. "You're. . . too late," he rasped, the words punctuated by a ragged breath. He could feel his heart beginning to slow. "In a. . . few minutes. . . I'll be dead."

"It would seem that way," Klaus agreed. But the speculative look didn't waver. Stefan watched him uneasily, unsure of what he had in mind.

And then Klaus ran a hand along the side of his mouth, where the blood had trickled out from the spear. It was still wet and clung to his forefinger easily, glinting black in the moonlight. He observed it for a long moment, before pressing the finger into Stefan's chest.

The instant feeling of Power made Stefan start in surprise. It was like the briefest touch of static shock, and for a second the hurt faded. But then it was gone, on a backlash of pain that left him sprawled on the ground, staring up at Klaus in growing horror.

_No._

"I'll kill myself if you try," Stefan choked out, and he meant every word.

Klaus seemed to consider this. Cocked his head to one side, trying to decide if Stefan would follow through on the threat. Something in his face must have told him he would, because he frowned suddenly.

"Fool boy," he sneered. "She always said you were stubborn."

Stefan said nothing in reply—merely closed his eyes, to wait quietly for the cool embrace of death. It would all be over soon. Against the inferno in his chest he could feel Klaus's hatred, the anger at being denied like heat against his skin.

And then the wave of fury disappeared and he heard Klaus laugh. With a painful motion he managed to turn his head. Klaus was looking at something off to the side, smiling to himself. Slowly, uneasily, Stefan followed his gaze—to where Bonnie lay on the ground, unconscious.

Understanding dawned, and with it came cold fear. Stefan went still as Klaus leaned in close, and began to whisper in his ear.

"Look at her, Salvatore," he said, breath hot and rank against his skin. "Such a pretty thing, isn't she? I wonder how she'll taste with her little witch blood."

"Stay away from her," Stefan snapped, struggling to sit up and failing. His hands itched to attack.

"Maybe I'll keep her, too," Klaus continued. "Another Katherine in the making."

"No." Images surfaced of Katherine—so heartbreakingly lovely, with her golden hair and sweet secret smiles. Twirling happily in a pirouette, white lace dress flaring around her. Her cruel laughter in the crypt, all the more awful for its innocence. Soft hands curving into claws, tearing and shredding as she raked her nails along his skin.

He couldn't let Bonnie be turned into that.

Klaus chuckled, long body straightening to scan the area. "Or what about the Sulez girl? Her grandfather entertained me for _years._ Perhaps I'll take both her and the human boy."

Stefan could feel the anger building almost against his will. The urge to lash out was so strong the pain seemed to lessen in response.

"Or even. . ." and this time Klaus paused. "Your brother."

At the mention of Damon, Stefan froze. Involuntarily his eyes flickered to where his brother was, sprawled facedown a few yards away. The fire beyond him was spreading, and wisps of smoke continued to rise into the night.

Damon. _Damn it._ He wasn't supposed to be here. None of them should have come. What did Matt and Bonnie and Meredith think they were going to do? This was his fight—his _fault_. His responsibility.

And if it meant their lives, there was only one response he could give.

"If I. . . agree to this," Stefan said slowly, forcing the words out, "You have to leave everyone—my friends, my brother, this town—alone."

"I won't touch a hair on their heads," Klaus shrugged, sounding bored. Then, slyly, "But only as long as I have something else to—occupy my attention."

Stefan understood. For the others to remain safe he would have to be Klaus's prisoner until the Old One tired of him. It was enough to make him sick, the thought of placing himself under his power. He'd be trapped for the rest of his friends' lives, unable to leave, or even die. Seventy, eighty years of this, at least. He didn't know how he would be able to endure it.

Still, it was a small price to pay for Matt and Bonnie and Meredith to be able to live the lives they should have had before he'd come to Fell's Church.

As for Damon, well, hopefully by the time the others had passed away, he'd be out of Klaus's reach. Stefan knew his brother could disappear at a moment's notice, untraceable unless he wanted to be found. He'd done it to him often enough. And maybe, in seventy years, he'd have found a way to kill Klaus.

Maybe.

Either way, all of this was Stefan's fault. And he wouldn't let others pay for his mistakes.

"Deal," he said quietly, hating himself.

"Deal," Klaus echoed, grinning—and then he plunged a hand into Stefan's chest.

The pain was immediate, a sudden crescendo of agony that tore a scream from Stefan's throat. He twisted, hands snaring into the dirt as Klaus dug casually around his open wound. For a moment he thought the bastard had been playing with him all along, had had every intention of killing him, and _no_, the others, they'd be. . .

But Klaus was pulling out, his hand holding something for Stefan to see. A splinter, two inches long and covered in blood.

With a flourish, Klaus drew the white ash shard along his wrist, creating a deep gash. Then he pressed it to Stefan's mouth.

_Drink._ A single command in his head.

Stefan drank. His injuries had caused him to nearly bleed out, and the hunger that overcame him was immense. His fangs extended instinctively, enticed by the powerful scent. He'd ripped the cut open further before he knew what he was doing, to gulp down huge mouthfuls of blood.

The taste was unlike anything he had ever experienced—thick and heady and charged with an intense, searing Power. It was like being shocked back to life by a thousand electrical currents surging through his body.

He tried to pull away, overwhelmed, but Klaus shifted, long fingers shooting out to grab his chin and jerk him forward. Stefan could feel the hole in his chest closing, the torn muscles and skin knitting slowly back together.

Darkness began to tinge the edges of his vision. He was fading, the power proving too much to handle. Stefan feared the flood of energy would cause his veins to burst open. With a desperate final pull he managed to wrench his head away. Klaus let him go and he collapsed on the ground.

His last thought, before he passed out, was of Elena.

* * *

_Come here._

The words reverberated in Stefan's mind, pulling him into the present. The accompanying tug had him on his feet before he knew what was happening. He took a few hesitant steps, until reason kicked in and he started to resist the pull.

Of course Klaus would be somewhere in the building. Probably still killing people, finishing off the last of his victims. Stefan curled his hands into fists, feeling as sick and helpless as when he'd watched Bonnie nearly suffocate to death. So much destruction, just because Klaus _could_.

_Now, sport._

The pressure increased tenfold. But Stefan gripped the wall, nearly staggering from the effort of forcing himself not to move. He wouldn't give in to Klaus, no matter what he did to him. That much he could promise himself right now.

There was a window at the far end of the hallway, the darkness outside letting Stefan know it was night. How long had he been unconscious? Hours, days? Weeks? He didn't know.

He needed to find out if everyone was alive, make sure they were okay. Somehow knowing Matt and Damon and the girls had survived would make everything else more bearable. If Klaus had actually kept his word—and Stefan had no reason to believe he would—then he would keep his side of the bargain, and give up his freedom forever.

This time, when the command came, Stefan let himself be pulled forward. He had no choice but to go to Klaus and demand to know if the others were safe. He recognized where he was, now that he had the chance to observe his surroundings. The institution. Which meant he was a good four hours from Fell's Church.

This time, when the command came, Stefan let himself be pulled forward. He had no choice but to go to Klaus and demand to know if the others were safe. He recognized where he was, now that he had the chance to observe his surroundings. The institution. Which meant he was a good four hours from Fell's Church.

Warily, Stefan moved down the empty corridor, memories of the last visit fresh in his mind. He remembered the tired faces of the elderly patients, and the way they had barely reacted as he walked by. The feeling of all those deadened minds had been disconcerting at the time.

But now the patients were truly dead, and it was like walking through a showroom of horrors. Each room Stefan passed was covered in blood—the walls, the floor, the bed. Most of the patients looked like they had been murdered as they slept, while the nurses were in the corners where they had probably tried to hide. A few clutched disconnected telephones, the cords cut and dangling.

It was enough to make Stefan turn away in disgust. He had seen war before, and the terrible aftermath of battle. But this—this was nothing more than a senseless slaughter. The pointlessness of it all was appalling.

The thread of compulsion was leading Stefan around a corner now. He grimaced as he recognized the hallway. He knew where he was going now—should have guessed from the start.

Meredith's grandfather. The one who had given them the secret to hurting Klaus, had made Stefan feel hope for the first time in days. In a way, he'd been the catalyst for the events that had led to this point. And, like so many of Stefan's other mistakes, his decision to see the old man had resulted in the deaths of countless others.

By the time he reached the room Stefan was shaking with anger. He paused at the doorway, trying to tamp down his emotions. Even from this far away he could feel Klaus's power, bloated and emanating outwards in a wave of dark energy.

When he stepped inside Klaus was there, waiting for him. Relaxed and smiling, the taller man stood in the center of the room, tossing a knife back and forth in his hands. Next to him lay Mr. Sulez, slumped over in the bed. Blood trickled in a steady stream down his face to the puddle on the floor.

He wasn't dead. That was the first thing Stefan noticed, before disgust and a rage so deep it was dizzying hit. Nothing as mutilated as that should have still been alive, twitching and gurgling wet sounds through shredded, bloody lips.

Stefan stared at the eyeless ruin, and at Klaus, who stared back, a challenging smirk on his face. Then he attacked.

He knew, even before Klaus threw him against the wall, that it was stupid, and hopeless. But all he could see was red, covering his entire vision. Tiny wrinkles outlined in it, dripping down the pale flesh onto the white sheets. Staining.

"Salvatore! So nice of you to join us!" Klaus threw his arms open, a mock greeting, before grabbing him by the tattered remains of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. Stefan staggered, then tried to kick his legs out from under him. It was like kicking a steel pillar. Klaus laughed, and slammed him into the wall again. The knife dug into his skin.

"Uh uh," he said, as if he was scolding a child. "Be a good boy and behave."

"Go to hell," Stefan spat, furious. "Torturing old men now? He can't even fight back, you bastard."

"Just a little payback, for that spear your brother threw into my back," Klaus said, still smiling. But his blue eyes were hard. "I didn't want to ruin our deal by doing the same to _him_, so I decided to go after the source." He gestured to the ruined thing on the bed. "Henry never knew when to keep his mouth shut."

Through the haze of anger the words penetrated, and despite the situation the slightest bit of hope flared. "The others, they're alive?" Stefan demanded, fighting the urge to rip the hands from his shirt.

"Probably," Klaus shrugged. "I left them as they were." He released Stefan and turned back to the old man, unconcerned that he would be attacked from behind.

Stefan straightened, keeping one hand on the wall to steady himself. His brother and friends were okay. And Klaus had just fed—was visibly thrumming with Power. Attacking him at this point was useless, and he couldn't risk him changing his mind. Not when they were still relatively close to the town. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Later. He would plan his strategy later.

Klaus was no longer looking at him. He stood crouched over Meredith's grandfather, the hand without the knife running up and down the thin white hair, smearing it red.

"Such a fine young man," he sighed, and amazingly, Klaus sounded fond. "So upstanding. The pride of the town." He snickered. "That is, until he tried to kill his wife."

"You made him do it," Stefan guessed tiredly. The anger was draining from him, replaced by a dull ache.

"Hmmm, perhaps," Klaus said. "Maybe he just got tired of the bitch." Something dark seemed to cross his face, before the grin returned. He laughed. "Ah, well, time to close the book." With a savage twist he yanked the head back, and leaned in close.

"Would love to stay and chat, old sport, and reminisce about the good times," Klaus said casually into the old man's ear. "But—" And with a quick movement, he slashed his throat, "I've got a new toy to play with now."

Stefan looked away, sickened. _He_ was the one who had led Klaus to this place. If he hadn't shown up looking for help, Meredith's grandfather would still be alive.

Klaus stood up and watched the body tumble to the floor. He turned and strolled out of the room cheerfully, licking the sharp edge of his knife. Not even sparing Stefan a glance, just expecting him to follow.

And Stefan did. He had no choice. He'd agreed to the deal. The fact that his friends were alive made everything else easy. He just had to let his mind go blank.

He followed Klaus through the building, past the rooms where orderlies and nurses and patients littered the floors. Down to the lobby, and the lone woman at the desk. She looked like a zombie, with dark, glassy eyes that didn't blink and hands that jerked slightly as she organized and reorganized the neat stack of papers in front of her. She didn't acknowledge them as they approached.

Klaus stopped in front of her and began speaking in a low, lazy tone. Stefan could feel the surge of Power coming from him, settling over the woman like a black fog. She was staring at him now, even as her hands continued to move on auto-pilot. She repeated everything he said in a dazed murmur. What she whispered made Stefan's blood boil.

"You can't do this," he said. Klaus ignored him. "She'll be locked away for life, or given the death penalty."

"If she lives that long. Personally, I'd bet the guilt kills her straight up." Looking satisfied, Klaus sent a final burst of Power, knocking the woman unconscious. Then he headed towards the double set of doors that led outside. "Coming?"

No choice. Stefan moved forward numbly. He didn't want to imagine the memories Klaus had planted into the woman's mind. She was young, brown hair curling neatly around her neck, no more than twenty-five at the most. A student maybe. With friends, family, a life.

"I'll stop you," he said, as he reached the other man. "I'll find a way." He had never been so serious before, so fiercely determined.

"You'll try," Klaus agreed mildly. Then he smiled, all teeth. "I'm looking forward to it." He pushed open the door.

And, with no thought in his mind at all, Stefan followed.


	5. assure

_"You just think of the worst thing you can imagine and that's always the truth."_

—Matt Honeycutt, VD4

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_._

The drive to Stonewall took three hours. Far quicker than their first trip to the institution, and Stefan had been speeding then.

Damon's driving could hardly be considered speeding, thought Bonnie. More like trying to break the sound barrier in a car that cost more than her house. She watched the dial hover at the far end of the speedometer, her hands clutching the seat rests so tightly her knuckles were white. She kept thinking of the seatbelt, and how ineffective it would be if they crashed.

They didn't crash. Lightening-fast reflexes kept the Ferrari from spinning out of control on the winding turns of the West Virginian pike. Damon even had the nerve to look bored, steering the wheel one-handed as he swerved around cars with inches to spare. Bonnie would have commented, if it wasn't for the undercurrent of—_something_—that she could sense from him.

As it was, the entire trip took place in tense, unhappy silence. Matt sat in the back, staring out the window the whole time. He hadn't glanced at either of them since they'd left the hospital.

It was incredibly awkward being in the car with them; the tension between the two so thick Bonnie could feel it against her skin. The last time it had been like this, Damon had kissed her and Matt had nearly gotten himself killed. She still didn't know what had happened, but whatever truce they'd reached was definitely gone now. She wished, more than anything, that Meredith was here.

Ooh, don't think about her, Bonnie thought desperately, warmth pooling in the corners of her eyes. Thinking about Meredith just made her want her cry.

But it was too late.

Meredith hadn't cried, even then. Instead her face went pale, olive complexion fading to sickly white. She started shaking, uncontrollably, thin tremors all the way from her shoulders to the fists in her lap. Bonnie was sure she was going to scream.

But then something came over her—resolve, maybe, or pride, or resignation—and she straightened, regaining her composure. She closed her eyes, and when she reopened them a minute later, she just looked tired, and very sad.

"I'm okay," she said, dry-eyed, to Matt and Bonnie and the anxious nurses crowded around her. "I'm okay." And she let Bonnie cry for her.

Eventually, with Bonnie's family on their way over, Meredith pointed out they needed to leave. Their best plan, she insisted, was to get to Stonewall to find out what had happened. She promised to cover for them, and as she rattled off a list of excuses, Bonnie could see the truth: the other girl just wanted them all out.

But she couldn't bring herself to leave, not with one of her best friends hurting. When she hesitated at the door, Meredith snapped at her. "Go, Bonnie. Please. There's nothing you can do here anymore."

And then, more quietly: "They're going to need your help."

Yeah, right, Bonnie thought, wiping miserably at her eyes. Some help I am. She couldn't think of a single thing to say to Matt, and Damon—well, he'd likely bite her head off at this point.

And she was scared, and mad, and worried. Everything was falling apart. She felt kind of like Alice: in over her head, falling so fast and so deep down the rabbit hole that she had no hope of ever getting back up—

The brakes slammed suddenly, jerking Bonnie out of her thoughts.

"We're here," Damon announced.

Bonnie looked around, startled. They were parked by the fence that surrounded the institution, on the outskirts of the small town. The place was completely crowded. All the entrances had been sealed off with yellow police tape and barricades and the army of news vans in the street. Thirty yards was as close as they were going to get.

She could do this. Loosening her fingers from their death grip on the seat she exited the car, wondering how they were going to pull this off. Already people were staring. The sleek black car was anything but inconspicuous.

Damon ignored the stares. He stood slowly, surveying the crowd, face unreadable from behind his sunglasses. He seemed to be searching for someone. A subtle tendril of Power slipped into the air. Bonnie waited.

Finally, he glanced away, frowning. "I don't feel him."

Klaus, or Stefan? Bonnie wondered. She had no idea which one he was talking about. She wasn't surprised Klaus wasn't here though; he hadn't exactly stuck around after Sue or Vickie's death.

But Stefan. . . was he still alive? It was the question she'd been dreading the answer to all day. Something—a premonition maybe—whispered that he was, but she couldn't be sure. And if he _had_ survived, why hadn't he come back?

"It'll be hard to get inside," said Matt, from behind her. "Too many people around."

Darn it, she needed to focus, not worry about Stefan. "So how do we do it?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"We don't." Damon was already making his way to the entrance, maneuvering through the zigzag line of cars. "One of the officers will do."

Oh. Of course. It was such a simple plan that Bonnie felt a little stupid—and under that, a whole lot relieved. She hadn't wanted to step foot in the building, had been dreading it the entire ride up.

"Bonnie," Matt said, passing by her to follow Damon. "You should stay here." _Where it's safe._ The unspoken words floated between them.

Oh no, they weren't going through that again. "I'm coming," Bonnie snapped, annoyed now. They were a team, for God's sake. And she could handle whatever had happened. She glared at Matt stubbornly.

After a moment he shrugged, clearly not wanting to argue. Together they walked over to where Damon was facing off against the police officer guarding the gate.

"—wastin' your time," the man was saying. His arms were crossed, thick muscles straining against the grey uniform. He stood scowling down at Damon, blocking his way. "Official statement's been made, buddy. So why don't you just take a hike and. . ." His expression slackened, and he trailed off as Damon removed his sunglasses.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" Damon said. He waited until the beefy face was still, before continuing. "Now then, Officer Davis, you're going to tell me everything you know." Smooth, precise words, leaving no room for argument.

It was a faintly ridiculous sight, Bonnie reflected: Damon standing there, giving orders to someone twice his age and weight, with at least five inches on him and a gun. Ridiculous, that is, if it wasn't for the casual air of menace around his black-clothed figure. That, and the Power. She watched fascinated as the man blinked, and blinked again, before opening his mouth.

"Arrived on scene 'round seven-thirty to investigate a report of multiple homicides," he said dully. "Two officers present, requested additional backup upon entering."

He continued in that dazed, monotonous voice, describing what awaited them plainly and without horror. How they had to go in with masks because the stench was too great. Bodies barely recognizable as human. Room after room revealed as they moved through the hallways.

The man in 142 was the worst.

Bonnie finally stumbled away, unable to listen anymore. Her eyes were _burning_. I hate you, she thought at Klaus wildly, seeing his smug face leering at her from across the clearing. You're a monster, and I'll see you dead if it's the _last thing I do._ She dug her nails into her palm, willing herself not to cry. Matt was right; she couldn't handle this—

No. Bonnie shook her head, trying to regain control. No, I've been through too much to start falling apart now. I have to be strong.

But the sick feeling wouldn't go away. She needed more space, more air. Damon and Matt were still talking, so she wandered over to the fence, where a crowd was gathering. Something important was going on from the way people were pressed against the bars, whispering in hushed voices.

They were taking out the bodies, Bonnie realized as she drew closer. In bags, large dark blue bags. Loading them with stretchers, one after another, onto the ambulances parked outside. It was an awful sight, even though the bags were zipped and half-obscured by the men carrying them.

Eighty-seven people. That was what the TV had said, Bonnie remembered. Eighty-seven victims. The number was staggering.

As she watched, she became aware of the commotion around her. Many of the bystanders were obviously relatives, and the sight of all those bodies was just too much. Bonnie saw that a lot of people were crying and hugging each other. Their grief drew out the few tears she had left, and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shaking. It didn't help. She felt so cold standing there. So very alone.

"Bonnie." Matt's voice came up from behind her. "The police have a suspect. We need to go."

"Yeah. . . okay," said Bonnie. The man in front of her had knelt down in the grass, hands covering his face. "Let's go."

There was nothing here.

* * *

The police station turned out to be a simple brick building in the middle of town. It was where the lone survivor, Susan Howell, a receptionist at Stonewall, was being held. Her name hadn't been leaked to the press yet.

Getting in proved fairly easy. The place was almost empty when they arrived, everyone still at the institution. Damon took care of the remaining officers. The men barely had time to draw their guns before his Power slammed into them like a brick to the head, knocking them out instantly. Bonnie tried not to think of how Matt could do that if he wanted to now.

A hallway off to the side of the main room led into another section of the building. Interrogation rooms, Bonnie's mind supplied, seeing all the doors. Only one was locked. They found the keys on a desk.

Then there was nothing left to do but go inside.

I don't want to do this, Bonnie thought suddenly, as Damon was unlocking the door. She had had enough horror for one day, one lifetime. She didn't know how much more she could take.

But it was too late to turn back. Ignoring the pounding wave of dread in her heart, Bonnie summoned all of her courage and slipped inside—

The room was small and starkly lit, with bare walls and a metal table in the center. A body was slumped over it, hollow face turned towards them, eyes open. It took Bonnie a second to realize it was a woman. She jumped, grabbing blindly at the wall for balance, a scream working its way up her throat. She choked it down. Damon and Matt both ignored her.

The woman—Susan—looked half-dead. Her brown hair was damp with sweat, and her skin was the color of sour milk. She'd been clawing the table with her nails, breaking them off so that her fingertips were bloody stubs. Blue-white lips moved soundlessly. Bonnie could just barely make out the words: _kill me, kill me, kill me. . ._

"Su-Susan?" she stuttered, fighting to keep calm. God, this was worse than she'd imagined; worse than Vickie even.

"Go 'way." Slurred tone, barely audible, and the sallow face didn't look up. Bonnie glanced at Matt. He had a hard look on his face, his jaw clenched, while Damon stood watching impassively from the door.

Nervously, Bonnie tried again. "Susan? We need to, um, talk to you. About what happened."

"So many," Susan whispered, more to herself than them. "And the faces. . ." She lapsed back into silence.

Taking a deep breath, Bonnie used her psychic powers to lightly probe the edges of the woman's mind—

Only to recoil at the sound of the shrill, instant scream. Bonnie knew she had made a terrible mistake as Susan shot up shrieking and clawing at her head. She retreated, horrified, but not before catching a glimpse of the maelstrom of emotions: guilt, pain, confusion, and an endless, consuming despair.

The realization shocked her. "She thinks she's the one who—" Bonnie couldn't finish, she was so surprised. Why on earth would she. . .

"Klaus." Matt spat the name in disgust. "He must have messed with her mind."

Bonnie deflated. Klaus. _Of course._ She should have known. The Original was still two steps ahead of them.

The situation seemed hopeless now. Klaus had disappeared, people were dead, and Susan had nearly lost it at the slightest psychic contact, so there was no way of learning what had happened. Mental persuasion wasn't going to work, not like it had with Vickie. Bonnie turned to Matt and Damon, discouraged, her mouth opening to say as much.

But Damon was moving past her, the sleeve of his jacket brushing her arm as he strode by. He reached the table and knelt down to the woman's level. Susan refused to look at him as Power began to seep out to envelope her.

"Damon," Bonnie started, then stopped. She had no idea what to say. Damon was more powerful than any of them, and maybe, just maybe he could get through. But Susan, her mind was like an eggshell covered in tiny, delicate cracks, ready to break at the slightest touch. If they weren't careful, they could hurt her.

Damon didn't look like he cared. All he wanted were answers. Bonnie watched, torn, as his power flowed out and settled over the woman.

Then it constricted.

It was like a snake suddenly wrapping itself around its prey. Susan froze, lips forming a startled 'oh.' Her eyes shot to Damon and stayed there as he took hold of her mentally, enclosing her in his iron grip.

"The truth," Damon ordered, and Bonnie shivered at the tone. "Now."

"N-no," Susan's mouth was moving reluctantly. She thrashed, trying to break free of the invisible hold. Her body was shaking. "Don't—" A high-pitched cry, as the pressure doubled.

Oh, God, Bonnie thought. This isn't right. I have to stop this.

But at the same time she kept seeing Meredith, stiff with shock and refusing to cry. She kept hearing the dull thud of Matt's head hitting the tree; Stefan staked in the chest, over and over. Klaus had to be _stopped._

Damon was pressing against the woman's mind, relentless. "Tell me."

A low, unintelligible moan in response. Bloody fingers clawed at the table. Bonnie shut her eyes. Just a little longer, a little more pressure. . .

Then:

"Knock it off!" A new voice. Matt!

Bonnie whirled around. She'd forgotten all about him. He was standing next to her, glaring at Damon, his hands clenched at his sides. It was the most emotion she'd seen from him all day.

Damon paused, not turning. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with scorn. "Don't be stupid, Matt. We need to break Klaus's hold on her."

"And shatter her mind in the process?" Matt sounded incredulous. Bonnie suddenly felt ashamed.

"We need to know what she knows."

"I don't believe you!"

A flash of blond, and Matt was standing over Damon, one fist buried in his black shirt. Damon regarded him coldly, as still as the silence that followed.

Oh, God, he's going to kill him, Bonnie thought, frozen. She wasn't even sure who she meant by 'he' anymore. Damon was by far the stronger, but Matt—he looked so enraged.

It took a moment before she realized nothing was happening. The two figures were locked in a stalemate; neither wanting to back off, but both unwilling to attack as well.

A quiet sob was what ended it. It pierced through the silence, drawing everyone's attention back to the woman. Damon's power had receded as he focused on Matt; without it holding her in place she had curled into the chair, arms clutched around herself.

"No," she kept saying, over and over. "No, no. . ."

Bonnie started. Had Damon gotten through? The guys seemed just as surprised as she was, Matt's hand loosening from the shirt as Damon pulled away impatiently.

"Susan?" Bonnie's voice came out thin and shaky. _Please let her be okay._

"I never thought—I mean, I thought about it, but I never—" A jumble of words spilled from the torn lips. "I—I don't. I can't. . . I don't _understand_."

"Susan, you didn't do anything," Bonnie pleaded. "You're not the killer."

"I could hear them," the woman continued. "They were screaming. I thought it was a dream. But when I woke up, the bodies were there." She choked.

"No, that's not—" Bonnie stumbled forward, past Damon and Matt. With trembling hands she pulled the other chair up beside her. Susan flinched away, but Bonnie couldn't bring herself to stop.

"What you think, what you remember, that's a lie. A—a vampire planted that into your head, messed with your memories. I _know_ you saw something else." Blank, uncomprehending stare.

"A man, with blond hair, almost white," Bonnie said desperately. "And he was so tall, wasn't he Susan? So tall and handsome in his long tan coat." She willed the image of Klaus into the woman's mind, with all the power she had.

"Bonnie," Matt said.

"Please!" Bonnie knew she was being hysterical, but she didn't care. This was their only lead. Their only hope. "Please remember. Please. Help us."

_Help us._

The woman stared at her, fear and grief and confusion warring inside her. But slowly, so slowly she didn't notice it at first, Bonnie could sense something—_something_ getting through.

"Tall," Susan slurred. There was a slight lilt to the word.

"That's it," Bonnie whispered. "With eyes like the Devil." Matt had come up beside her, silent now, and intent.

"I," she paused, uncertain. "I, I don't."

"You do!" Bonnie said. "You remember, I know you do. Please, don't let him win."

"I. . . yes. _Yes._ I remember now!" A startled look came over her, as if some kind of wall had collapsed inside her mind. Susan sat up in her chair, her brown eyes clearing. "He was so handsome and polite at first. He even gave me a little bow when he walked in."

"I'm sure he did," Bonnie muttered, recalling her first encounter. _Creep._

"Yes, and there was another one. . ."

Bonnie felt her heart leap. "Who?" Next to her Matt sucked in his breath.

"A young man. He was asleep. The blond one, he said they had just arrived in town, and wanted to see an old friend. I told them visiting hours were over, and to come back in the morning. And then—" she stopped.

"Yes? What happened?"

"He—he said, 'oh no, that won't do, that won't do at all.' And he smiled at me. And I remember thinking, I need to call security. I need to call security." She paused, shaken. "I can't remember if I did."

No, Bonnie thought sadly, no she wouldn't have. Klaus had gotten his claws into her, and that was that.

"Thank you," she said out loud, daring to touch the woman's arm. Susan didn't flinch this time, but now a scared, hunted look was creeping over her face. The earlier excitement had faded.

"What's going to happen to me?" she asked. "Will he return?"

Bonnie hesitated. The possibility had never occurred to her. But now. . . she glanced at Matt. He shook his head at her, and she knew they were both thinking the same thing. If Klaus learned what happened, he might try to finish the job—

Susan seemed to realize this. "I just want this to be _over_," she pleaded, terrified. "I just want to forget." She hugged herself tighter.

_I just want to forget._

Bonnie stopped, a sudden idea forming inside her head. She turned to Damon, who hadn't moved from his spot. He met her gaze almost reluctantly.

Please, let this work. . . "Damon," Bonnie said. "We _can't_ just leave her like this. She needs our help. What Klaus did to her will haunt her forever, unless we do something." No response, so more words spilled out in a rush, "You can erase her memories, give her a chance to move on. Make it so that Klaus will never find out." She bit her lip, before adding softly, "It's what Stefan would have done."

That earned her a dark glare. But Matt had stepped up and was scowling at Damon, still angry from their earlier stand-off. Bonnie could only imagine the conversation taking place between the two.

She waited tensely, half-expecting him to scoff and refuse. After all, Damon had gotten what he came for, so why should he care anymore? Heartless, ruthless, cold, all the words she had ever associated with him came to mind, and she remembered what he had spat at Stefan that night in the clearing: _I don't give a damn about their lives._

But finally, with another glance at the woman, at Bonnie, at Matt, he sighed, a hiss of breath through his teeth.

"Go outside," he told them.

Matt and Bonnie went.

* * *

As soon as she entered the hallway, Bonnie sank to her knees. She felt utterly exhausted, like she had used every last ounce of strength and then some. But even under the weariness, a tiny bit of warmth flickered. _I did it,_ she thought, too tired to grin. She had actually helped this time, and proven she wasn't such a dweeb after all. _And_ she convinced Damon to do something nice for a change. That was an accomplishment in itself.

Still, Susan hadn't been able to tell them much about Klaus, or what his plans were next. So in a way they were back to square one. If he chose to attack them tomorrow or the next day or the next, they wouldn't know how to beat him.

Well, at least the trip wasn't a total waste, Bonnie thought, trying to remain optimistic. We saved that poor woman, sort of, and we found out Stefan was alive, just like Elena had said—

Elena! Bonnie gasped and struggled to her feet, her tiredness fading. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten about her. In the midst of everything that had happened, it had somehow slipped her mind.

The spirit-world seemed like such a distant dream now. But it was all flooding back to her. The bleak, empty landscape, the freezing rain, the door. . . Bonnie had nearly been stuck there forever.

Then she remembered what Elena had told her.

It hit her, like a lightening bolt; sudden, soundless knowledge filling her brain. "An Old One," she whispered, in shock. And when Matt didn't respond, she said louder, "An Old One!"

"What?" Matt glanced over at her, frowning. He'd been staring off into space.

"She said—_Elena_ said—that we need to find an Old One!" Bonnie was getting excited, more so than she'd been all day. "She told me only they would know—Matt, they'll know how to stop Klaus!"

"Yeah, great, but how do we find them?" Matt sounded skeptical. He didn't comment on Elena.

"I might know a way." The reply came from behind her. Bonnie swung around. Damon had exited the room, shutting the door with a firm click. He was watching her oddly.

"You're sure," he said, a statement. Bonnie nodded. She could hear Elena's demanding voice, the words ringing out clear as anything.

"She wanted me to find you immediately," she told him, before flushing. "Um, but then I kind of forgot when I woke up—"

"If there's an Old One to be found," Damon broke in, ignoring her, "I have several contacts overseas. Past acquaintances." He paused, thoughtful. "They may be of some use."

Bonnie looked at Matt. Matt looked back at her, an eyebrow raised. It was as good a plan as any.

"Well," she said, trying not to smile. "I've always wanted to see Europe."


	6. adrift

_"Are we the disease or just a symptom?"_

—Matt, VD4

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_._

So, Matt thought. This is it.

The room seemed smaller somehow, less familiar, as if Matt was a visitor to his own home. He supposed he was, in a way. He stood there, taking in the bedroom he'd had since childhood, with its single window facing the side. The shabby blue paint on the walls, unchanged since he was five, crayon markings still visible. A simple bed and desk, and a bookcase his mom had found at a yard sale. Football gear, trophies, a high school yearbook thrown into the corner. His life, condensed into one space.

A backpack lay open on the bed, filled with all of his essentials. Passport and a one-way ticket to Rome, a few days worth of clothes. Stefan's silver-tipped knife.

On top of his shirts rested a picture of his family, taken back when his father was alive. He'd thrown it in at the last minute, after staring at it for nearly an hour as he packed. It was the only sentimental thing he'd allowed himself to bring.

Outside, Damon stood waiting for him. Matt had refused to invite the bastard in when he'd shown up, slamming the door in his face for good measure.

He'd almost been unable to get in himself the first time, his mother frowning in confusion as he stood on the porch and asked. Matt had been terrified all week that she'd take one look at him and just _know_, but with everything going on lately—Sue Carson's death, Vickie's suicide, Tyler's disappearance, the news on TV—she'd been preoccupied. Thank God for small miracles.

Miracles. Matt snorted. Yeah, right. Like God had anything to do with this.

The anger was creeping back into his thoughts. Matt tightened his hands into fists at his sides. A part of him itched to just start smashing things—throw the desk through the window and hope it landed on Damon's head. But the other part, stronger and more pervasive, was too bewildered and hurt to care.

From the kitchen he could hear his mother banging around, pots and pans clanging furiously. Well, she hadn't exactly been thrilled with him for leaving. Matt couldn't blame her, either. But it wasn't like he had a choice.

The clock by his bed was showing 8:15 in green. Time to go. He could feel Damon's impatience, steady pressure in the back of his mind. They had to. . . eat something, and Bonnie was waiting at her house. Then they had to stop and see Meredith one last time before their flight.

But Matt hesitated. He didn't want to leave, not just yet. He needed a few more minutes alone, to breathe, before jumping back into the chaos. Just a little longer, before everything started going downhill.

Downhill? Now Matt laughed. That was a joke. His whole life had been downhill since the day Elena died—now it was just fucking surreal. He was a vampire for chrissakes—  
_immortal_. He drank _blood_ for a living. He was _dead_.

The horror of waking up and discovering what had happened hadn't worn off yet. Matt stared down at the ring on his left hand, with its pattern of small blue stones. Lapis lazuli, one of Damon's spares, and a reminder of everything he had lost.

He shuddered, his mind beginning to wander back to that night. This time he made no move to stop it. He'd been keeping his thoughts focused on the present, knowing he'd drive himself crazy otherwise. It'd been easy at first, with all the turmoil going on. But now when he actually had a moment to himself, the memories wouldn't stop coming, and he was too tired to resist. Surrendering to them, Matt closed his eyes.

* * *

It had been so dark. He'd been falling in pitch blackness, the darkness taking almost physical form. It surrounded him, suffocating him, dragging him down, down, down. . .

Then—light. Or something close to it. Not really light, in the true sense of the word. More like a lesser degree of darkness, coupled with the sensation of something heavy lifting off him. The loss of weight allowing him to breathe.

He'd awoken with a jolt, gagging and gasping for air, his chest heaving in pain. He couldn't see a thing, and everywhere there was this horrible agony. He felt like he had just played in a dozen state championships, every muscle cramping with lactic acid, shortening his breath. Worse though was the hunger—the near starvation that twisted his stomach into knots.

And then came a rush of sheer, mindless need, almost overwhelming in its intensity. He needed, no, he _craved_. . . something. The scent of it was heavy in the air. Blood. That was it. He needed blood, needed to feed.

"Drink this."

A warm body was thrust towards him. Half-blinded, he grabbed at it, his teeth drawn to the rapid, beating pulse. The flesh parted easily as he bit down, and warm gushes of blood flooded his mouth. He gulped it down, desperate for more. The animal thrashed in his arms but he held onto it, determined to take in its final throes.

Gradually, the hunger dimmed. Until at last, true consciousness. A sense of sanity returning. Matt pushed the body away, feeling his teeth retract, and opened his eyes for the first time. The murky outline of trees surrounded him, letting him know where he was. It was night, but for some reason it didn't seem quite as dark in the woods, the shadows less deep.

He wasn't alone. A familiar presence hovered nearby. Matt looked up, and found Damon standing over him, watching him steadily. Almost—waiting. But for what?

His gaze traveled downwards. He stopped. There, on the ground, was. . . oh, oh God. Oh _fuck_.

Tyler.

Or what was left of him.

"—the hell?" he croaked. He scrambled backwards in shock and disbelief. The other boy's stomach had been ripped open, entrails spilling onto the ground, shining wetly in the moonlight. It was the sickest thing Matt had ever seen. And farther up, at the base of the throat, he could make out two puncture wounds, the ones his teeth—his _teeth_—had caused, when he'd. . . when he'd. . .

Matt turned to the side and started retching uselessly into the dirt, trying to get rid of the taste of Tyler's blood. Nothing came up, but his stomach heaved with nausea, tears springing to his eyes. Minutes passed, and still he felt ill with disgust.

"Why?" He managed to choke the word out when he could finally talk. A single question. An accusation. A plea. He lifted his head, to glare at Damon blearily.

Damon's face was devoid of emotion. When he spoke, the words came out flat, almost clinical. "The impact with the tree caved your head in. You would have died, or been little more than a vegetable. I managed to force enough blood down your throat to complete the change in time."

"But _why?_" He didn't understand. What could have possibly made Damon think he'd ever agree to this? Matt would never have chosen this, not in a million years.

And Tyler. The callousness of it all was too much to handle. For Damon to bring him here, with Matt starving and half out of his mind, to stand there and watch him while he shredded another person to pieces—

"You only drank from him," interrupted Damon. "He was already dying."

Matt shook his head. It didn't matter. Tyler's death was on his hands. The taste of blood still lingered on his tongue.

The shock was fading, replaced by white hot indignation. "You sick fuck," he spat. His hands shook as he crawled to his feet.

"We don't have time for this," said Damon, without expression. "The sun will be up soon." He didn't move as Matt took a step closer.

"Let it come." Matt didn't care. He wanted to punch the blank, calm face until his knuckles bled. He wanted to scream, and rage at him at the top of his lungs. _This was all his fault._ He lunged forward, catching Damon around the waist in a tackle and knocking him to the ground. Damon fell back with a thud, Matt scrambling onto his chest to hold him down.

Eventually, he realized something was wrong. Damon wasn't fighting back. He lay there, looking up at Matt dispassionately, as unreadable as ever. No fear. No tension. Not a single emotion.

"I should kill you," Matt said, digging his fingers into rock-hard arms. The lack of reaction was confusing him, making him angrier.

"Matt." No inflection in the tone, but it was enough to give him pause.

"What?"

"We don't have time for this." Damon repeated the words slowly, as if Matt was being irrational. As if Damon hadn't just ruined his life. But then he continued, "Bonnie's been injured. Meredith could be dead. And Klaus has Stefan." He said the names as if they were knives, smooth and deadly and precise, cutting straight through the anger to his heart.

It worked. Matt felt his grip loosen. Damn it, the others, he'd forgotten all about them. "What happened?" he asked.

"Klaus won." Two words, and black, unfathomable eyes that said so much more.

"So why aren't we all dead?" Matt tried to think back. The last thing he remembered was jumping onto Tyler's back, trying to get him into a headlock, Bonnie circling closer with a heavy branch.

"Something must have changed his mind."

_Or someone._ Stefan. Matt deflated, his hands slipping off Damon, falling to his sides. The last of the anger drained out of him.

Stefan, you idiot, he thought numbly. You big, dumb, self-sacrificing _idiot_.

His best friend was dead. Or worse. Bonnie and Meredith, the whole town, everyone was in danger. "Is that why you changed me?" he heard himself ask. _Why you let Tyler be murdered in cold blood?_

Damon—the bastard—ignored the question. "Feel free to get off me anytime." And before Matt could move, two arms came up and shoved him in the chest.

Caught off-guard, he toppled backwards with an 'oomph.' By the time he hit the ground Damon was already standing, brushing himself off with practiced ease. Matt braced himself for retaliation.

It didn't come. "We need to get rid of the body."

The curt, flat tone was really getting to him. Matt took his time climbing to his feet, trying not to look at Tyler and failing. There was a nasty bruise on the side of his face, he noticed, and some of those huge white teeth were missing. It was the Quonset hut all over again, only worse. "How?" he asked dully.

"Bury it, burn it, it doesn't matter." A hint of impatience crept into Damon's voice. He knelt beside Tyler, fiddling with the tattered shirt. Trying to use it to hold in his insides. Matt was struck with the urge to start dry-heaving again. He moved away, until his view was obscured by Damon's back.

But that didn't block out his hearing, or the smell. The blood teased at his canines, and over the sounds of crickets and other nighttime noises, Matt could pick out the wet squelches and the rustling cloth. He tried not to think of how everything seemed louder, stronger, purer, magnified a hundred times over by his heightened senses.

And Damon didn't care. No explanation, no apology, not a single trace of guilt. "I was wrong about you," Matt said, and the words surprised him. He hadn't expected to feel so. . . disillusioned. Hurt. "I can't believe I almost thought there was something more to you. That you weren't such a bad guy." He let out a harsh laugh as he thought back to his last encounter. Images of Mr. Tanner, blood gushing from his throat. God was he naïve.

"Tell me something," Matt challenged, unable to contain himself. "How do you sleep at night, knowing what you've done? How can you go around and just—_torture_ people to death, and not give a damn?" Sudden, uncomfortable flashback of Stefan with an axe, but Matt shook the thought away. It wasn't like they'd done anything.

Damon's body had gone still. A line of tension appeared, visible in the moonlight, before his shoulders relaxed. "It was easy, Matt," he said lightly. "Tyler had information, and wasn't quite willing to share." He twisted to look over his shoulder. "Don't worry," he added, flashing one of his disturbing smiles, "You'll get used to it." He sounded almost bitter.

Matt snorted and turned away in disgust. Damon probably thought he'd done him a favor, changing him against his will and forcing him to drink another person's blood. Not even finding him an animal to kill, just this harsh introduction to the rest of his life.

I'm a vampire now, Matt thought, and felt his heart clench. Would he be like Stefan, and fall into self-loathing and despair? Or, worse, would he be like Damon, and eventually see others as nothing but food?

Stop it, his mind said. Focus on something else. Anything else. Think of the girls, of Stefan; he could still be alive.

"I'll never forgive you for this." The words came out softer than he intended, more broken than bitter. Damon didn't reply.

The sound of insects drowned out the silence.

* * *

Eight days, and the police hadn't found the body. A warrant had been issued for Tyler's arrest, over the protests of Mr. Smallwood. Matt knew he should probably feel relieved that Caroline's story had worked. Mostly he just felt numb.

If Damon hadn't needed his help, would he have let him die?

Would Matt have wanted him to?

He still didn't know the answer.

But it was 8:25 now. Damn. He'd wasted a whole ten minutes. Any longer and Damon would be pounding on the window—or worse, knocking on the door. Matt zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the doorway.

Two steps, and he was through. _Don't look back_. He hesitated, one hand on the handle, before yanking it closed. It slammed shut. _Keep walking._

Matt wondered, very briefly, if he'd ever see his room again.

His mother was standing in the living room when he rounded the corner, her arms folded and her fingers drumming against her skin. He recognized the pose, the one that said they needed to talk. He slowed to a halt, bracing himself.

"Matt?" His mom started forward when she saw him. She no longer looked angry or upset with him, just determined. "Are you leaving now, honey?"

Matt forced himself to smile at her, trying to act casual. "Yeah, Mom," he said, shifting the bag's weight. "Flight's in an hour, and everyone's waiting for me."

"Oh. I see." More silence, and she seemed to be debating with herself on what to say next. Finally, she sighed. "Matt, can we talk?"

Crap. "Mom, we already talked about this," Matt began, but she cut him off.

"I'm not trying to stop you anymore," she said, holding up a hand. "You're eighteen now, and I've decided to respect that. And Lord knows you certainly deserve a senior trip."

"So what's the problem?" Matt fought not to flinch as she came closer. Please don't let her notice anything wrong, he thought. To distract her he slipped the backpack off his shoulders, setting it down as if it weighed too much. "I've got everything covered, Mom."

"I know you do, sweetie," she said, before hesitating, "It's just. . . I want you to at least promise me you'll be careful. Call me paranoid, but I'm worried about you, Matt. With everything that's happened lately. . ."

"I know," Matt told her honestly. "And I don't want to abandon you or the rest of the family. But I really need to get away from all this, at least for a little while." He tried to appear pleading. "It's been a hard year, Mom."

Her expression softened. "Oh honey," she said. "I know how you feel. First Elena and now Meredith. . ." she sighed, "You've never let me down, Matt, so I suppose I can trust you alone with Bonnie," he flushed, "and this Damon friend of yours."

Damon. Matt cringed inwardly as he remembered that meeting, his mother taking them all out for dinner. Matt picking at his food awkwardly, Bonnie babbling, trying to sound upbeat, Damon his usual charming self. Bonnie had told Matt beforehand that Damon had been the one to persuade her parents to let her go on the trip. Matt wasn't quite sure what that meant, but he'd wanted to kick Damon under the table every time he smiled at his mom.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Damon's a good guy. Good friend."

"He seems nice," she agreed. "Just, be careful, would you? He was a little. . . smooth." She laughed, and man, Matt really loved his mom sometimes.

He sobered when he caught her looking at him expectantly. "Well," she declared, clapping her hands, "you should get going before you miss your flight." She leaned in to hug him.

After a pause, Matt wrapped his arms around her nervously, caught off-guard. She felt fragile underneath his hands, thin skin stretched over thin bones. _Human,_ and he held onto her gently, all too aware of the strength flowing through him now. If he wanted to, he could crush her in the blink of an eye.

The thought terrified him, and he tried to pull away. She didn't let go.

"Oh, honey, you're going to have such a great time traveling around," she said, and hell, he could feel her crying now, her head buried in his shoulder. "I love you, and I'm so, so proud of you. You deserve this and so much more."

"Mom—" Matt's voice caught. There was a terrible lump in his throat, and his eyes were starting to fill. "I love you too," he said raggedly. "I love you too."

This could be the last time he ever saw her. The thought hit him like a fist to the gut. There was a good chance—a really good chance—that they would lose, that Klaus would kill them all. That there'd be no one left to tell his mom why he wasn't coming home.

Matt knew then that no matter how much he hated being changed, hated Damon, he was grateful for at least one thing. This moment. The chance to say goodbye.

His mother eventually broke away, wiping at her eyes with an embarrassed sniff. Matt could see the grey in her blond hair, and lines on her face that hadn't been there a year ago. When had she gotten so old?

"I love you, Mom," he said again, because he didn't think he could say it enough. Leaning down, he kissed her on the cheek, salty and wet.

Then, unable to stand it anymore, he picked up his backpack and fled.

* * *

"You're late," was the only thing Damon said when he approached. He must have sensed Matt coming, because he was waiting in the car now. Matt ignored him and went around to the other side, tossing his stuff in the back.

"Sorry. Had to say goodbye," he muttered as he slid into the passenger seat. But he didn't try to look sorry, since he wasn't. Damon raised an eyebrow at him but apparently decided to ignore it, because a second later the car was sliding smoothly into gear.

They rode in silence out of Matt's neighborhood. Drove past the rows of shabby one-story homes that made up the area. It was still light enough outside that kids were playing in the streets, their parents relaxing in lawn chairs, enjoying a beer. Matt watched as people caught sight of the car and froze, pointing at the Ferrari as it glided past, more money than they would see in their lives.

These were the people who would die if they couldn't stop Klaus a second time. The families he'd destroy.

"You really think we have a chance?" Matt asked, five minutes later, as they were pulling onto the main road. "Me and you, against Klaus?" The silence was beginning to bother him, and he felt like he had to say _something_.

Damon's answer did nothing to improve his mood.

"No."

* * *

_End Part I_


	7. rome

_"__This isn't easy, you know. I don't have that much power.__"_

—Elena, VD4

* * *

**Chapter Six  
**

_._

_Friday, July 10, 11:15 p.m._

_Dear Diary,_

_I don't know what I'm doing here._

_Oh, that sounds awful, but it's true. I haven't done anything this whole week. Damon and Matt keep leaving me at the hotel when they go off into the city. Damon says they're looking for someone, but he won't tell me _anything.

_I hate being treated like a little kid. It's been like this since we left for Rome. Matt barely talks to me, and Damon—Damon scares me sometimes. I thought he'd be better after Susan, but if anything he's gotten worse._

_I miss Meredith. I called her this morning and she said her grandfather's funeral was a few days ago. Her parents wanted to keep things as secret as possible, so they buried him in West Virginia. Meredith said part of her family was actually _relieved_ that he was gone!_

_This whole thing is a mess. There's rumors going on about Tyler—some of them pretty outrageous—and now Mr. Smallwood is accusing Caroline and Meredith and me of lying. We all gave our statements to the police, but he's saying I skipped town with Matt. There's even talk that he's hiring private investigators to look into Tyler's disappearance._

_At least Klaus seems to be gone for good. Meredith thinks that maybe it's because he got what he wanted. As horrible as this sounds, a part of me is glad. I mean, I'm worried about Stefan, but I want things to go back to normal in Fell's Church._

_I don't know what to do anymore. I feel—anxious. Weird. Nothing happened like it was supposed to. That night, I thought either Klaus would be killed, or we would. Either way, it was supposed to _end.

_Now I feel like it's just beginning._

_._

Bonnie stopped writing and put her pen down on the bed. She felt a little better, now that she'd gotten the words out. Since arriving in Rome she hadn't been keeping up with her diary all that much, too preoccupied with worrying about the town.

Damon and Matt weren't making things any easier. Damon had gotten them separate rooms in the hotel, and except for a few brief conversations, Bonnie had been left on her own. It made for a pretty lonely week.

At least the hotel is nice, she thought glumly, looking around. She was on the top floor of the Hotel Majestic, in one of the most expensive areas of Rome. Luxurious furniture and drapes filled the high-ceilinged room, and huge windows looked out over the street below, still crowded with people even at this hour.

Better than nice, Bonnie amended.

But it wasn't enough to make her feel better. She should have been out there helping, using her powers to. . . well, Bonnie knew she could use her powers for _something_. She was more than a psychic warning system. She just needed the chance.

If only I could talk to Elena, Bonnie thought. Elena would never let anyone ignore her, especially a boy. And she'd know what to say to Matt, and what to do about Damon, and how to find an Old One.

It wasn't like Bonnie hadn't tried. At one point she thought she'd go crazy if she dreamed of Elena again. But with Klaus gone, it seemed a little safer. The problem was that no matter what Bonnie did, Elena stayed maddeningly out of reach. Not even the trances had worked.

And her dreams. Since waking up in the hospital Bonnie had started to hate falling asleep. She kept having nightmares of her near brush with death, always with a dark shape moving toward her. Bonnie still had a faint outline of bruises on her throat, and sometimes, she dreamed she never woke up. But she never saw Elena.

Bonnie shivered. She didn't want to think about her dreams. And she was starting to wonder if maybe Elena had moved on, to heaven or wherever spirits like her went.

"But she wouldn't just leave without telling us," Bonnie said, to the empty, immaculate room. "Would she?" The room stayed silent, and she sighed in frustration, throwing herself back onto the pillows. Maybe Elena didn't have a choice.

She glanced at the clock by her bed. Great. It was 11:30 now. Bonnie hated this part. It was too dark outside, even with the light coming up from the street. But she was tired, and she needed to sleep if she wanted to wake up early tomorrow. If she could catch the boys before they snuck out, maybe they would let her come with them. Maybe she wouldn't give them a choice.

And I can't keep this up, Bonnie thought. I can't just not sleep. I have to get over this somehow.

Ignoring the nervous feeling in her stomach, Bonnie reached over and turned off the lamp. The room fell into darkness. She buried her face into the pillows, and pulled the covers over her head.

Elena, she thought, closing her eyes. Where are you?

* * *

"Honestly, Bonnie," Elena said. "You have to stop doing this."

They were sitting at the kitchen table in Bonnie's house. She could hear Yangtze barking somewhere upstairs, a distant, high-pitched yapping, which wasn't right at all so Bonnie knew she was dreaming.

"I'm sorry," she said automatically. There was a bowl of fruit on the table and a glass of lemonade in front of her. She reached for it; it was cool to the touch.

"I'm not as strong as I was before," Elena said. She wasn't glowing anymore and she held her own drink absently. "Every time you contact me it's harder to get through. I didn't know if. . ." she trailed off, and then frowned and set the glass down. "But never mind that now. Did you give Damon my message?"

"Yes, of course," Bonnie told her, nodding eagerly. "That's actually who I wanted to talk to you about. Damon—and Matt."

Elena laughed. "Oh, Bonnie," she said, "Only you would try to contact a ghost over boy troubles." And before Bonnie could protest, she added, "If you want to be listened to, silly, you have to make yourself heard." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, as if to emphasize her point. Bonnie grinned. It was just like old times.

"Now," Elena continued, "About my message. I'm afraid I don't know anything other than what I told you. The spirits can't tell me much."

"Oh," Bonnie said, disappointed. And then: "Spirits?" She thought of the endless plain of her dreams, and that grey, dreary, lifeless world.

"Yes," Elena confirmed. "The ones passing through. _You_ were almost one, you know," she said, eyeing Bonnie, her tone turning reproachful. Bonnie ducked her head, trying to hide a smile. It felt so good to be talking to Elena again, no interruptions this time.

"But you saved me," she said. "Again. Thank you."

To Bonnie's surprise, that made Elena suddenly stop and look down at the floor. "Yes," she said, after a moment. "I suppose I did." She twisted something on her finger, and now Bonnie could tell something was bothering her, the earlier humor gone.

"Elena?" she asked, her smile slipping away. "What's wrong?"

Elena was silent at first. Finally she said, voice low, "Stefan's in trouble."

Bonnie opened her mouth and shut it.

"I could feel him that night," Elena continued sadly. "He was so close, and in so much pain. I wanted to help him but I couldn't get through. Even with the Solstice there was a force blocking my way. I saved you, but what about him or Matt or Meredith?" She touched whatever was on her finger again. Bonnie caught a flash of blue and silver, and realized it was a copy of the ring Stefan had given her.

"But we can still save him," she said, alarmed. "As long as he's alive, we've got a chance. . . right?" It couldn't be too late.

Elena hesitated. "Yes," she said at last, looking up. "Alive. I suppose you do."

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, until Elena smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Bonnie. I wish I could help you more. But you need to know that it's getting hard not to lose myself now. I've been between worlds for too long, and things are starting to fade."

"What do you mean?" Bonnie asked. This wasn't how she had imagined the conversation would go.

"Oh, sometimes it's easy to remember," said Elena. "The images are there, so clear in your mind, and as real as anything." Her voice grew distant. "But then the mists sweep down, and everything gets covered in grey, and you forget." A pause, before she added quietly, "It's easy to forget."

Bonnie tried to speak, but she couldn't around the lump growing in her throat. Elena's emotions were suddenly so strong: her sadness, her fear for Stefan, and her fervent wish to be alive again.

Elena frowned and jerked her head up as if listening to something. "Oh," she said. "It looks like our time is up." She nodded at the ceiling. "You should go. I think Matt's calling you."

The glasses were rattling, sliding around on the table; the bowl of fruit doing the same. Bonnie stood up, alarmed. The house was shaking. She turned to Elena, but things were already getting darker, Elena's form growing indistinct.

"Goodbye, Bonnie," she said, her voice becoming fainter by the second. "I'm sorry I couldn't help—"

And then Bonnie was being shaken awake, finding herself face-to-face with Matt's worried blue eyes.

* * *

"So she couldn't tell you anything?" Matt asked. He was standing at the foot of her bed, Damon leaning against the wall by the window. They both looked tired, and there was a careful space between them. But Damon had an air of satisfaction around him and even Matt seemed less grim. Bonnie wondered what had happened.

"No," she said, snapping out of her thoughts. "Just that Stefan's in trouble, which we already knew, and that she's been finding out things from the spirits passing by." She left out the part about the mists.

Matt sighed. "Well," he said, running a hand through his hair, "It doesn't matter. If she can find out something, that's great; if not, we'll just continue as best we can."

"And the mists?" Damon interrupted. Bonnie turned to him, startled. He was watching her, his eyes narrowed, and she remembered too late that he could read her mind.

"What? Oh," she stuttered, "It's nothing."

"Mists?" Matt looked from her to Damon, confused, and then scowled. "Get out of her head."

"She's hiding something." Damon didn't move, just kept watching her. Bonnie tried not to squirm under his gaze. It was unnerving.

"Well, it's just," she started. "Elena said she's been having trouble remembering things. Because she's been in the spirit world for so long and all." She hurried to add, "But I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to worry."

"How touching your concern is," Damon stated flatly. Bonnie gulped. But before he could continue, Matt interrupted.

"It's fine," he said, shooting Damon a glare. "It just means we need to work faster. If Elena won't go until she knows Klaus has been stopped, then we need to stop him and rescue Stefan so she'll be able to move on."

"Really?" Bonnie asked. Matt made it sound so simple. He nodded.

"And we found one of Damon's contacts, too," he said. "That's what we were coming to tell you."

"Oh," Bonnie said, brightening. It was the best news she'd heard all day—all _week_. "Oh, Matt, that's wonderful!" She resisted the urge to hug him. Then, before he could tell her she was staying at the hotel, _again_, she said loudly, "So when are we meeting him?"

Matt opened his mouth to reply, but it was Damon who answered.

"Tomorrow," he said, getting up from the wall. "Her name is Mona."


	8. NEW mona

_"__I've had many companions."_

—Damon, VD1

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_._

The meeting place was only a short walk from the hotel, so they didn't need to take the car. Bonnie struggled to keep up with Damon and Matt as they slipped through the crowds, trying to ignore the knot forming in her stomach. Any other time, she would've wanted to stop to take in the sights. The streets were lined with old buildings packed closely together, and there were so many boutiques and small cafés. But this wasn't the time for sightseeing, and Bonnie had barely slept after hearing the news. When they reached the famous Spanish Steps she just squeezed past everyone and hurried down it as fast as she could, grateful when at last Matt looked behind him and stopped.

"Thanks," she gasped as she came up beside him. At the bottom of the steps was a large open square, with a stone bench curving around a fountain. She went over and sat down on it, trying to catch her breath.

When she glanced up a few minutes later, Matt was looking at where Damon had disappeared into the crowd. He shook his head at her, resigned. "Well," he said, "At least I've been to the area before, so I should know how to get us there."

Bonnie nodded. She felt better with Matt here, now that he wasn't ignoring her. Since giving her the news some of the tension had eased out of him, and he seemed more like his old self. Or at least, like how he was before the Solstice. More focused.

And, well, Bonnie admitted sheepishly, she couldn't stop sneaking glances at him. Even after a week she hadn't gotten over the change. Matt had always had these healthy all-American good looks, but now—now he looked amazing. In the sunlight Bonnie could appreciate the full effect.

Darn it, Bonnie, concentrate, she reminded herself. This wasn't the time to be thinking about that sort of thing. "So where are we going?" she asked, getting to her feet.

"The street's called Via Margutta," Matt said, stumbling a little over the pronunciation. "I think Damon's contact owns some kind of art gallery there."

"Oh." Bonnie tried to imagine a vampire selling artwork to tourists. "That's weird."

"Yeah, I know." Matt gave her a slight grin. "You ready?"

At Bonnie's nod he led her through the crowd, moving at a slower pace than before. They made their way out of the square and up another broad avenue. Bonnie marveled at the scene around her. The streets were teeming with people, like the whole city was out enjoying the sun. Bonnie had been to Edinburgh a few times, but she'd never seen anything like this before.

Finally Matt ducked into a small alleyway. When they came out the other side, Bonnie found herself on a narrow cobblestone street. The place was beautiful, with ancient ivy-covered buildings and little art galleries everywhere. It was quieter too, less people, the noise from the main road fading away.

"Um, I think it's. . ." Matt trailed off, looking down one end of the street and then the other. "Damn. Hold on a second." He shut his eyes and took in a deep breath. Bonnie could suddenly feel the power gathering, a thin strand creeping into the air. It made the hair on her arms stand up. This was the first time she'd seen him use his Powers, and it was—well, this was Matt Honeycutt. A boy she'd known since grade school.

A few moments passed and Matt opened his eyes. "Okay, he's this way," he said, sounding more certain. Bonnie followed, the knot in her stomach starting to tighten again. She wasn't sure what to expect, and after a week of hoping and waiting, she was afraid this would be a dead end. There was so much that depended on this meeting.

They found the art gallery near the end of the street, in a small sandstone-colored building. Unlike the other shops that had their artwork displayed outside, a sign was the only thing that marked it for what it was. _La Rinascita_. And below that, in smaller letters: _Galleria d'Arte_.

Bonnie shared a look with Matt. She could feel Damon's presence, located just beyond the wall. This was it. Matt touched her arm reassuringly as he pushed open the door.

It was cool inside, a blast of air conditioning hitting Bonnie as she walked in, along with the faint smell of smoke. The door opened into a large room, Renaissance-style paintings covering three of the walls. In the far corner Bonnie saw two figures sitting at a table. Damon. And a woman with short black hair.

Damon didn't turn around, but the woman, Mona, looked up. She was beautiful, which Bonnie expected, and young—maybe her age—with dark eyes and a slim build. She was smoking a cigarette. As they came over she flicked ash into the tray.

"And you must be Damon's companions," she said. Bonnie was surprised to hear her speaking English with only a slight accent.

"Yes," she said, a little shyly. "I'm Bonnie, and this is Matt." Mona nodded at both of them and motioned to some empty chairs.

"Please, have a seat. Damon and I were just. . . catching up on old times." As Bonnie and Matt sat down, she turned and said something in Italian to him. Bonnie noticed she didn't sound too happy.

Damon just flashed her a smile in return. "Of course," he said, amused. And then he quoted, softer, "And so the weary way-worn wanderer bore, to his own native shore." Bonnie vaguely recognized the line from some poem she'd read for English.

Mona snorted and took another drag of her cigarette. "You hardly seem the worse for wear," she observed. "But you still haven't explained why you're here." Her hand tightened suddenly, and her eyes narrowed. "I wonder how you dared to show your face after the last time."

Alarm bells began to go off in Bonnie's head. "We really need your help," she interrupted before Damon could speak. "Our friend was kidnapped two weeks ago and we're trying to get him back."

"But we need to find an Old One first," Matt added. He was looking back and forth between Damon and Mona as well. "Someone who can tell us how to stop another Original."

"The _Originari?_" Mona lifted an eyebrow. "They are nothing but a myth."

Bonnie shook her head. "One of them attacked us two weeks ago. His name was Klaus."

Mona seemed skeptical, but when no one's expression changed, the look faded and she leaned back in her chair. "I see. And you were hoping I could tell you how to find one." She frowned. "I'm sorry, but Damon should have known better than to come to me."

"Why's that?" Matt asked. Bonnie glanced at Damon. He didn't seem surprised, or even affected by Mona's words.

"Because I told Damon the last time that I was not going to help him anymore. And I meant it." Her face hardened. "I don't know why I even started helping you to begin with, after what you did."

"Ah," Damon said. "Still bitter then, are we?" There was a faint mocking curve to his lips.

Mona glared. Her hand was poised near his arm, which rested easily on the table. Bonnie could almost see the debate going through her head, like she was itching to burn him with her cigarette.

"Wait, _wait_," she said desperately. "Just hear us out."

"We don't have any other options," Matt put in, lifting his hands, placating. "I know Damon can be a real jerk—" Bonnie caught the raised eyebrow— "But we're trying to save my best friend. If. . . if he left, would you talk to us instead?"

Mona observed Matt coolly, her gaze assessing. She wasn't really all that young, Bonnie thought, not when you looked at her closely. It was the way she sat in her chair, bare legs crossed, elegant in a black dress. Her eyes—almost as dark as Damon's—were sharp, the weight of too many years in them.

"Alright," Mona said finally. "There have been rumors. I can tell you what I've heard. But only because," she added, with another glare in Damon's direction, "it'll probably get _you_ killed."

Damon, if possible, looked even more amused. He stood up, pushing his chair back. "Five hundred years, and you're still as dramatic as ever," he said to Mona. Almost provokingly slow, he turned and strolled out of the room. The door closed shut behind him.

Silence descended as soon as he was gone. Mona looked at where he had left and then said, without expression, "Bastard. And it was four hundred and sixty-one."

"Um, I'm really sorry," Bonnie apologized. "We didn't know. . ." But how could they have known, with Damon being the way he was? And what exactly had happened between them? Now that some of the tension was gone, her curiosity was getting the best of her. There _had_ to be a story somewhere behind all this.

"We just need you to tell us everything you've heard," Matt said, "And then we'll leave."

Mona sighed and took her eyes off the door. She put out the rest of her cigarette, pressing it into the tray. "It isn't much," she admitted, settling back into her chair. "I travel extensively due to the nature of my work," A brief glance at the wall, "I hear a few things here and there every once in awhile. But I've always dismissed the stories, having never seen such an old being myself."

"Oh they're real alright," Bonnie said, thinking about Klaus. _I killed in Alexander's army_ he'd told them.

"So you say." Mona shrugged. "There was a rumor sixty years ago, around the time of the war. Whispers that one had been up north."

"What else?" Matt asked.

"Nothing so recent, besides a few wild claims." Mona tapped her nails on the table before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I'm too young to know much."

"However," she said, as Bonnie's face fell, "there _is_ someone who may be able to help you. A business client of mine. He's quite old."

Bonnie leaned forward. "Where can we find him?" she said eagerly.

"Venice. His name is Gasparo." Mona pursed her lips. "It may be hard to get his attention, though. He won't speak to just anyone. But I wonder if. . ." she trailed off thoughtfully.

Bonnie waited until Mona nodded to herself. "Yes, this could work." Looking at them, she explained, "My ex-husband is employed by him still. I could call, and tell him to introduce you."

"Ex?" Bonnie asked, a little wary. She suspected just how Damon knew Mona, and she didn't want to have to go through this again.

Mona waved a hand. "Oh, don't worry. It was a mutual decision." For a second a wry smile touched her lips. "Till death do us part isn't so appealing when you're immortal."

"Besides," she went on. "We still keep in touch. I know how to handle him."

It sounded good. Or at least, it sounded like a plan. Matt seemed to share her feelings, too. "Thank you," he told Mona seriously. "You didn't have to help us. We appreciate it."

Mona smiled again, a different smile this time. "You're welcome," she said. "After all, our kind should stick together. These centuries can be lonely without friends." The sly, sideways glance she gave him was anything but subtle.

Matt just looked away, uncomfortable. If he were human he would've been blushing. It was so _Matt_-like—the old Matt—that Bonnie almost laughed.

Everything's actually working out, she thought.

"Well, we should go check on Damon," Matt told Bonnie. She nodded, and made to follow as he stood up.

"Wait," Mona said suddenly. "Before you go, there's something else." Bonnie blinked. The flirtatious tone was gone, replaced with a serious expression. Slowly, she sat back down.

Mona gazed at them steadily. "I wasn't lying when I told Damon that this search would get him killed. There was a story I heard once, in a tavern in Spain. . ." she paused, troubled. "Ten vampires—members of our kind who had been alive since the Dark Ages—disappeared a hundred years ago. Their bodies were found nailed to the door of a church. Without their teeth. Some whispered it was the work of—"

"An Old One," Bonnie finished, her eyes widening.

"Yes. I never believed it, of course. And most assumed a vampire hunter—or hunters—had merely gotten lucky. But if what you're saying is true. . ."

"We'll keep that in mind," Matt said firmly. "Thank you. Was there anything else?"

Mona shrugged. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you. But yes, there's one last thing. Tell me—how many years have you known Damon?"

Bonnie saw Matt pause. "Only one," she answered. "He came to our town a year ago. It's a long story."

"I'm sure," Mona said dryly. "Well, here's another warning, then. Be careful. Whatever he's said or done to make you trust him, he'll betray you as soon as it's convenient to do so, and leave you behind without a second glance."

"How do you know that?" Bonnie asked before she could stop herself.

"How do you think?" For just a moment, something in Mona's voice wavered. "We were lovers once. He was a leader of men—a _condottiero_. He had everything. And then he left one day without warning. Because he was _bored_." Her hands curled on the table.

"He's helping us save his brother," said Matt. "And we don't trust him."

Dark eyebrows rose in surprise. "His _brother_?"

"Yes. Stefan. They've—reconciled. . . sort of," Bonnie replied. She didn't want to believe Mona. While what she said may have been true once, Damon had changed for the better. She hoped.

Mona looked at Matt more closely. "Well, I can see your mind is made up. You're young, you'll learn what he's like soon enough."

She rose to her feet gracefully, smoothing out her dress. "I'll contact my ex-husband tonight," she said. "Expect a message from me within the next few days."

"Thank you so much," said Bonnie sincerely. Despite Mona's warnings, she felt hopeful they could do this together with Damon, and find an Old One who wouldn't kill them on sight. Everything was falling into place.

"C'mon," Matt said. With a final nod at Mona, he walked towards the door, Bonnie trailing behind. As she left, she cast one last look back. Mona was standing by the wall, a slim hand on the edge of a painting. She smiled—one of the smiles Bonnie had come to associate with _not-human_. A voice whispered in her mind: _Good luck, girl_.

Bonnie closed the door behind her, firmly, glad to be out in the sun.


End file.
